The Difference
by SSJL
Summary: The obligatory tag for Con Man in the Meth Lab.


It is like a voice in your brain, but it doesn't speak in the cool logic of your rational side, or even in the instinctive understanding of your emotional side. It speaks in the language of desperate urges, as powerful as the need to eat or sleep or breath. It demands your attention at all times. When you listen to it, it feels seductive, promising you that every difficult feeling, every stressor of your life will be soothed if you just follow through with what it wants. When you try to resist it…it _screams. _It drowns everything out, even the things you hold most dear. Your job. Your family. Your life. Those things beg for your love and attention. The voice of addiction begs louder. You give in, just to make it _shut the hell up. _That quiets it for awhile. But it always comes back.

He knew it, intimately. He had lain in bed at night, hot tears pricking his eyes while he realized just how close he was to giving up everything that mattered. And then he had gotten up in the morning and did all those self-destructive things all over again.

Knowing it made him a fucking hypocrite.

"You've been avoiding me," his partner accused, cornering him in his office. And she was right.

"I was worried you'd want to talk about it." No use lying to her. "I don't like to talk about it."

Her face turned hesitant, and he knew in her naiveté she was wondering if he didn't want to talk about it in general, or just not with _her. _He sighed, because as much as he hated talking about it, the one reason he would do so was to ease her discomfort.

"I don't like talking about it, because it makes me angry. And when I get angry, I start to hate him. And when I hate him, I might as well hate myself. And nobody likes a self-pitying, self hating loser with daddy issues."

"You aren't a loser. And you aren't like him."

He shook his head wearily at her. "Let me tell you a story, Bones. Five years ago. I drove to Atlantic City on a whim. Stayed up all night, winning a little money, losing more. Rebecca started calling around 11. Figured she was calling to bitch at me for taking off, so I didn't answer. After the fifth call, I turned off my phone so I wouldn't have to hear it anymore. Stayed up playing until seven in the morning, then I went to my room and crashed. When I woke up at three, I figured I should probably check my voice mail. Turns out Beck had rushed Parker to the hospital because he had developed pneumonia. They had to put him on a ventilator. He had stopped breathing for a few minutes. Not only had I abandoned my family for a fucking game of cards, but my son almost died while I was doing it." Now he looked up at her, straight in the eyes, daring her to argue with him. "So why don't you tell me exactly how that's any different than all the benders I had to clean up after. All the drunken fits I had to hide Jared from."

You swear you're going to be different. You swear you'll never do the same thing as he did. But you end up doing the same shit in a different way. The ultimate irony becomes the ultimate cliché.

"It's not the same," she said.

He wanted to laugh at her stubbornness. "Why?"

"Because. You got help. You gave up your pride and got help."

Pausing, he thought of this. Remembered looking at his tiny son hooked up to all those tubes and machines, and the ice cold eyes that met his apologetic gaze when he saw Rebecca. _"No more, Seeley," _were her words. And she had meant it. She moved out the next day.

For the first time in years, something screamed louder than the voice of the addiction. The day after _that, _he went to his first meeting. _"I'm Seeley. And I'm a compulsive gambler."_

It had taken years. But now…he smiled at his partner. "Yeah. I guess I _did _kick that motherfucker's ass, didn't I?"

"Yes," she agreed.

You have to always be careful, because the voice fades, sometimes to the point of almost disappearing. Then something happens…something on t.v. will remind you, or you'll run into one of your old buddies, or maybe you'll just have a shitty day, and all of a sudden it's back, reminding you of how good it made you feel. Only that's a lie. It didn't make you feel good. It just numbed you. Against all the pain of life, to be fair…but also against the joy of it.

One of the most satisfying moments in his life was the first time he heard that voice…and was able to tell it 'no.'

His father had never had that pleasure. He supposed that made him worthy of pity, more than hate. Somehow, the distinction felt no better. Those mixed feelings were a burden he was going to have to live with.

"Thank you," he told his partner. "You're a good friend."

"You're welcome," she nodded. "Now. Don't avoid me anymore."

When both your nature and nurture teaches you addiction, the alternative doesn't come naturally. You have to learn difference. You have to practice it. Sometimes, you'll falter. Other times, you'll come out stronger than before.

Asking for help had worked for him once before. He needed to remember that. As he watched his partner leave the room…the person who he had made it his business to protect…he realized that that trying to be strong for her all the time might actually be a weakness. Next time, when he needed help, he would ask her for it.

That would be the difference.


End file.
